Turning Through the Years
by Vintage Geek
Summary: After the incidents at the Expo, and later New York, Tony thought he could finally get a break, to continue living as a Genius Billionaire Playboy Philanthropist, but life is never that easy. Forced to relive bitter memories, bad experiences & even the history of his parents, Stark is now in charge of a child whom his mother secretly claimed guardianship of over thirty years ago.
1. Into the Labs and Back Again

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything Marvel **_**or **_**Avengers (unless a t-shirt and coffee mug counts)**

"I need you to study a subject for me." A deathly calm voice began. "If I let you assemble a team of your coworkers could I trust you?" asked the dark figure, their tone, a rumbling baritone, was cold and calculating.

"I would be happy to oblige; though, might I ask, what would we be studying?" the scientist asked, she had been given almost no information other then where to meet this director.

"A mutant. We've never seen anything like this; its genetic coding is off the charts." The shadowed director spoke evenly. The man was seated behind a large metal desk; the gleam was nearly as sharp and cold as the director himself. "Of course Ms. Berrit, the emoluments will be great." He tacked on, almost as an afterthought.

"And when would I start Sir?" Susan Berrit hadn't thought to ask about the pay check, it had slipped her mind until 'Mr. Mystery' commented on it.

"As soon as you wish, the subject was moved to Headquarters this morning." _Seriously; did this guy have any emotion? _Susan found herself pondering as her superior continued on.

"How does Monday sound? I should have a team by then."

_Military Headquarters, later that week_

When Susan climbed out of the jeep she nearly dropped to the ground in praise. A three hour drive in an open vehicle going probably 90 miles an hour through an unpopulated New Mexican desert was _not_ what she had expected of her morning. The scientist did however miss the rushing wind flow, as she stood there she finally became aware of the blistering 102 degree weather beating down all around her. Three more jeeps pulled up shortly, the six other members of her team climbing out to join her. "Let's do this!" cried Brody, one of the younger specialists in the group; his upbeat attitude roused some laughs from the other men and women as they headed into the building.

Susan couldn't help but laugh when they made it to the designated labs; her teammates looked like children in a candy store. "Okay, according to this, the subject is down that hall in room E07. Its vitals are on level and the sedatives have taken effect." Susan said, basically summarizing the report on her designated tablet, and continued scanning through the readings to see what they were working with.

"Well that just tells us _everything_." Came Brody's sarcastic reply as they all made their way to the room. No, this wasn't a room Susan quickly realized, this was an examination cell. Looking through the large observation window she saw a white room-_the window is probably windowed-_she quickly realized. The only color in the otherwise blindingly white room was the two metal carts sitting just next to the door, a depressing fact Susan later thought. Sitting on an operating table in the center of the room was the Mutant, it was covered in a thin white sheet almost like a corpse, monitor wires and IVs streamed from under the thin covering like an eerie spider web._ Well here goes._ The scientist told herself, gathering her thoughts as she made her entrance. Out of the seven people in the team, only four entered along side her, the other three were taking notes from behind the mirrored glass.

As they circled the table the room seemed to take on a foreboding air. In a move of bravery, one of the other scientists slowly peeled back the covering, laying it on one of the carts as everyone else stared. The subject was a child, a little boy they could blatantly tell; he was pretty banged up, bruises, burns, and cuts marring his tanned skin. This kid had gotten himself in deep somewhere. The burns on his face looked more like someone had splattered ink onto his skin, the substance (or possibly skin) was charred black patterns reminiscent of a Jackson Pollock* painting, the surrounding area taking on a pink agitated color. Looking closer, Susan could also see several older wounds; the most prominent was a not-quite healed cut, forming a jagged white line across the corner of his left eye.

"Let's get him cleaned up first boys, it'll be easier to see what all's going on here." A researcher, Sandra, said slowly, still examining the still figure. One of the scientists brought a tub of water over, surgical sponges and clean rags lay next to the plastic tub on top of the cart. After scrubbing the boy down they moved on to cleaning the wounds and aberrations that decorated his body, the boy twitched almost imperceptibly when Susan dabbed rubbing alcohol onto a particularly gnarled burn patch on his elbow and again when she moved on to the splatters on his face and neck. Believing they were done one of the male scientists hefted the boy up, so that they could change the sheet before they moved on; when he placed the boy down he noticed a sticky maroon substance on his wrist, where he had supported the boys head. Sure enough, buried underneath the thick and unkempt black locks was another jagged cut, apparently the child had quite the run-in to have cracked his head open, and eighteen stitches later, they were back on the track to research.

…

_Darkness_. That was the first thing the boy remembered. At first frightening, the blank void was beginning to seem less like empty space and more like a blanket, enveloping and protecting him from whatever lay outside its cozy embrace. To be honest, he would have been fine with staying there, simply floating for the rest of time, however all good things come to an end. He didn't know when-or why for that matter-they had started, but some time not too long ago, he had begun being 'prodded'; moments when he could feel something touching him, hurting him he realized. Uncomfortable sensations such as stinging, the prick of sharp objects, and even an almost freezing sensation; all of which he found he could do nothing about, no matter how hard he tried. The boy also found that the darkness seemed to be growing thinner; at times he could barely see light, a milky haze every now and then, as if looking under water. These phantasmal occurrences began growing longer and closer together; more colors joined the fog, such as yellows and browns, a peach color or silver even.

Eventually he stopped trying to decipher these moments, simply waiting for something else to happen.

Watching,

Waiting,

Listening.

…

The entire team was baffled by the child. During the first day of research they continued to find things about the boy that definitely _weren't_ in the report; things such as three broken ribs, a previously punctured lung, a fractured tibia, as well as a concussion. The only 'mutant' thing about the child was the DNA strands they found, whether if it was ingestion or injection they couldn't figure out, but the child had recently come into contact with _very _powerful chemicals; the affect wouldn't be permanent, but it would he would carry it, and its effects, for quite some time. Throughout the research process they had kept the boy on a steady stream of sedatives, making sure to keep him unconscious as they worked on him.

Today the team was going to officially stop sedating the boy; having done all the tests they could think of to an unresponsive subject their director decided they needed some 'live' results now. For the entire week they had been weaning the boy of the powerful drugs, and now all they had to do was wait.

Sandra and Susan had walked into the lab when it happened. They heard heavy footfalls and barked orders, the yells from their team members, and decided to see what had happened. A large troop of men in heavy suits marched through the base, guns aimed at any person who stood in their way. One of the burly members dragged the two women over to the wall facing the cell, ordering them to stand still.

"Well, well, well." Came a deep voice. SHIELD director Nick Fury stepped through the wall of soldiers. "It seems a friend of mine has been dealing under the table. Were you aware that you are handling SHIELD property?" the question was rhetorical, the tall man turned around before either could stutter a reply. "Doesn't matter. All that matters is that you hand it over quietly. You will be paid your dues, debriefed, and relocated, easy as that. Or if you refuse, we could do it the hard way, and you'd be leaving with Tiny over there." Fury said evenly, motioning to the large man who had ushered them into the hall.

"What did we take?!" Sandra asked, believing they had done nothing worthy of penitence.

"A… 'Ward' of ours," The SHIELD director replied, searching for the right word before motioning to the cell. "And I don't like people playing with my stuff, so I'm taking it back." The comment was delivered sarcastically, though not taking away from any of the serious feeling left hanging in the air.

"Just take him, we have the reports, you can take those too. Just please don't do anything rash." Susan reasoned. This attempt at peace only gained an eye roll from Sandra "It's a little late for that." Berrit's friend reasoned sourly.

The team could only watch as the lab was stripped right before their eyes. The last thing to leave was the subject; the boy was still out cold as the gurney bounced over the dirt pathway outside the building. And that was the end of that.

_SHIELD Helicarrier_

"I want a full report on him in five minutes gentlemen, that's an order. I want records of everything they did, and if necessary, a way to reverse or complete it." Fury shot off demands and answers, never stopping he made his way to the bridge. "Call Agent Barton, They need to assemble."

***Jackson Pollock was a 1950's artist, famous for his starting trend of 'splatter paintings**

**Any guesses on who the boy is? I promise he's canon, he's just normally around 40 years old, and has a bird, **_**hint hint**_**.**


	2. From Russia With Love

**I'm not quite sure what happened, but my summary didn't show up for the first chapter, so here it is:**

**Summary (extended): After the incidents at the Expo, and later New York, Tony thought he could finally get a break, to continue living as a Genius Billionaire Playboy Philanthropist, but life is never that easy. Forced to relive bitter memories, bad experiences & even the history of his parents, Stark is now in charge of a child whom his mother secretly claimed guardianship of over thirty years ago. With his friends and fellow Avengers, will Tony be able to handle this next adventure? Will he not be able to get over past experiences, to move on and continue? Between Steve's conscience, Bruce's logic, and even Clint and Natasha's suspicion Stark will have to do what he believes is the right thing, let's just hope it really is the right thing to do.**

**Warning: There will be no OC love interests or major character deaths, sorry to disappoint but I want this to be somewhat happy and Mary Sue-free. There will be foul language, drinking at points, and even mentioning or insinuation of child abuse. If any of this upsets you then this might not be the ideal story for you. Also, though it might not need a warning, any and all Russian in this story will be spelled phonetically purely for the sake of pronunciation. Translations will be at the bottom in bold print. **

**This is not Iron America. Again, sorry to disappoint, but this story focuses on other aspects, but if I do this right then there will be fluff between the two. If you really want Iron America, then please, squint and tilt your head a bit to the left.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Marvel or the Avengers.**

Two figures visited inside a pristine office, one of which-Steve Rodgers-sat at a thin black table, the man in front of him-Nick Fury-paced none too patiently on the other side. Time seemed to trickle by as the two waited for the third member of their party. Fury seemed to grow more agitated with every passing minute that Stark didn't show.

Finally the large office door opened as Tony Stark waltzed in. "Hey Patchy, did I miss the party?" the man asked as he sat in the seat beside Steve.

"Stark, you're twenty minutes late." The SHIELD Director deadpanned. "My time today is limited; I thought I had made that clear." He stepped up to the front of the table. "Since I don't have time for pleasantries, I need you to take on a project of mine."

"We gonna be making macaroni art now?" Though his statement was sarcastic, Tony couldn't keep the interest out of his tone.

"Not quite. I'd like you to meet Subject 10642, our scientists here have taken to calling him Comrade." As Fury said this, a wheelchair was wheeled in by three people in white coats. A child around the age of six or seven sat in the child-sized wheelchair, large white blankets wrapped around him securely like a cocoon; his bare feet barely touched the foot rests. His black hair pulled back in a stubby ponytail, his bangs sliding into his face as his head lolled against his shoulder.

"Wait, you mean you're going to give us a human being?" Tony asked.

"Why call him Comrade?" Steve asked, talking over the man next to him.

"The first words we heard him speak since arriving here were Russian." One of the scientists explained, maneuvering the boy next to Fury.

"… So you want us to babysit a human being you happen to own-and I have no comment on that-who doesn't even speak English? Where'd you even get him, do you keep them on stock or something?" Tony asked jokingly, both he and Rogers were quickly edging out of their comfort zone.

"Well, that's why you're here Stark. By extension, you are his legal guardian." The already quiet room grew silent; the only sound was the slight whistling of Comrade's breathing. "Mrs. Maria Collins Carbonell-Stark, your mother, claimed guardianship of our little friend here and seeing as both your parents are… no longer with us, you inherit their affairs."

Tony looked shell shocked, wondering how that was even possible. In order for his mother to have claimed this child, the boy would have had to have been born before her death in 1991. That in itself was impossible; the boy-Comrade had to have been born in the early two thousands, '06 at the earliest. With a choked swallow, Tony gathered his bearings. "If what you're saying is true-doubt it-then wouldn't a name have turned up in order to link the kid to Maria?" a good question, but the cool look on Fury's face seemed to nip it in the bud.

"Genetic testing, through a later maternity test we were able to link him to a Ms. Zhanna Lazarev. In the court papers involving the guardianship he was only named as the child of Ms. Lazarev. A lack of marriage records suggest the boy was born out of wedlock. Apparently Mrs. Stark was close to this woman, or at least felt responsible for her; however through your mother's records as well as Ms. Lazarev's we have no way of proving they even met. Your mother had never been to the Asian continent, and Ms. Lazarev never left the Tuva Republic."

"So basically what you're saying is that Maria claimed some anonymous child out of Russia, and this woman consented to it? Fury this isn't making any sense." Steve, though briefly, had actually known Maria Stark, before and shortly after she had started 'seeing' his friend Howard. This didn't sound like something Maria would do, she was never a spur of the moment kind of gal, nor did she keep secrets.

"It's about to Rogers; during the Genetic testing we were able to draw several possible matches for the father. The only possible match who even _knew_ Ms. Lazerov at the time was a young intern of her father's, Anton Vanko." Taking a pause to let his statement take full effect, Fury continued "Once again, through personal records, we noticed that Zhanna seems to drop off the map two years before Vanko left for America." While Tony was at a loss, Steve was beginning to catch on. With an awed tone, the blond soldier raised a hand weakly "You don't mean she changed her identity… do you, Sir?"

"Now that's a good question Rogers, I have receipts for plastic surgery on Vanko's tab, for his wife Renata. It was purely cosmetic, no medical issues were filed." Fury laid down a tan folder in front of the other two men. As Steve leafed through them Tony caught glances of photos. _A tall girl stood against the worn wall of a barn, she was dressed in a long polka-dotted dress and had a grey shawl, she had an almost bored expression. A strong brow line traced smoothly to an aquiline nose; her eyes, the color of dark chocolate, were almond shaped though they held an almost gaunt look even though she couldn't have been older than 15._

_Another photo, the same woman though slightly older stood next to a tall man, both were pail and had dark hair, the man wore slacks and a white button up, the woman wore a long blue dress with a red bandanna tied into her hair. They were smiling and the man had his arms wrapped loosely around the woman's shoulders; in the corner of the sepia photo was a loopy scrawl "Molodoy lyubvi, Zhanna and Anton August 23, 1939"_

_A third photo, the woman sat in a hospital bed. Though she only seemed to be in her mid thirties, her hair already had a silver streak that stood out against her dark hair like snow against fresh soil. The planes and angles of her face had changed, her nose had a subtle curve outward, almost like a button nose. Her cheeks were sharper though not in the same gaunt fashion as before, carefully manicured brows curved with a tired curiosity as she gazed at the camera. In her arms sat a small bundle, a pink face sat between the blue folds of fabric, a baby boy._ Tony could see the boy had the same hair color as his mother, an almost inky black that matched Comrade's. Looking over to the boy and then back to the photo, Tony could make out the resemblance, the boy's father maybe? Turning to look at Steve, Tony couldn't help but be unnerved at the seriousness in Steve's expression. He was analyzing the photo, that much was obvious, but what he was looking for was yet to be seen. "…Spangles?"

"This is Renata. It has to be, both women have to be, they have the same spark." The captain said as if to himself.

"What's that supposed to mean Steve?" Tony was at a loss, so what if it was the same woman, what did _she _have to do with the boy in the wheelchair?

"Renata was Anton's wife. I knew them both when I was working with your father."

"And they had a son you had the pleasure of meeting not too long ago, Stark." Fury said.

"Anton, you mean that physicist that worked with my dad?" Tony said, finally getting a grain of the subject at hand.

"The very same, he was a genius and a good friend, but his allegiance to his countrymen was stronger than his towards your father." Fury said with grim sense of irony.

Steve looked like he'd had a run in with old ghosts; his mouth was pressed in a thin line. "The Anton Vanko I remember was a good friend of mine and a business partner of Howard's, I'd like to remember him that way. Are you saying that boy is Anton's grandson?"

"You mean he's the kid of that _psycho _Ivan? He nearly killed me and now you want me to take on his spawn?" Tony demanded.

"Now Stark, why would I do that? This isn't Vanko's son," Fury defended poorly.

"Then why are you walking us in circles? Just tell me what you wanted to tell me and ship the kid to my house!" Tony's patients were quickly being strained.

"Fury quit playing us and just tell us what's going on. With all due respect sir, this is a kind of touchy memory for me to deal with, and I'd like to know why you insist on bringing it up." Even Steve was fighting against his temper at this point.

"This boy, Comrade _is _Vanko."

**Molodoy lyubvi- Young love**

**Yeah, I'm aware that's probably the cheesiest cliff hanger I could have chosen, but if you saw the last 4 paragraphs I tried to tag onto this you'd understand why it's better without them. Please forgive me for taking this long, I've been in a theatre production in my town and the shows just ended last Sunday, I've been exhausted to say the least.**

**I'd love to hear your comments, anything you have to contribute feel free to share.**


End file.
